Alive and Well
by Roberto and Lexie the Great
Summary: House’s patient only has one symptom: won’t die. What started as a simple speculation, though, quickly becomes his most confusing case ever, making him question what’s real. Maybe this is a puzzle he should have just stayed away from. HouseBuffy crossover
1. Strong

**_A/N: In this story, Chase works in the ER, for some reason. It takes place in the fourth season of House and in the seventh season of Buffy._ **

* * *

**Chapter One by Roberto  
Strong**

In the soft light, Chase gazed down at the goddess beneath him. He held her head in his hands and gently brought all his skill to bear. As he laid her down, cradling the body that lay limp in his arms, she sighed. His eyes met hers. Nothing. "Morphine," Chase whispered. The nurse quickly set an IV.

The Gameboy bleeped as House's formula one skid off the track. A solid rear-ending made him lose control and brought the game to an end.

"Damn it, Wilson." He barely mouthed the words to an empty office.

Cuddy burst in. "House I swear to god I'm going to take that Gameboy and—"

"Busy."

"You are supposed to be in the Clinic and—"

"Which god?"

Cuddy's flashing eyes blinked then narrowed. "What?" she hissed.

"Which god did you swear to... the god of bad home perms?"

Cuddy's hand instinctively shot up to her locks. House smiled slyly as Cuddy's hand balled into a fist then lowered to rest on her hip. "My hair is fine", she said evenly, "Get your ass to the clinic." She turned and walked out.

House frowned as he watched her go. Sighing, he searched his top drawer for his stash, downed a couple, and looked around for his cane. "Damn it, Wilson," he muttered again. His leg was beginning to hurt.

When the pain struck, House hated people, he hated being a doctor, and he hated Clinic duty. He popped two more pills. As he saw his first patient, a foggy indifference was taking hold.

"It seems like I'm hungry all the time, Doc." The patients thick British accent made House's addled brain take notice.

"I guess you've tried something other than Spotted Dick and Jelly Eels?" The sarcasm wasn't lost on the patient.

"Yeah, well, I don't crave your everyday fare..." A menacing tone made House hold his tongue, but only for a moment. He looked away.

"From the look of your skin, I'd say you need a healthy dose of B12 and a nice steak dinner." House turned to prepare a needle.

"Red meat's good... Doc." The menacing tone again.

Silence.

House slowly turned to find the patient smiling cheerily now. "Actually, I'm not here for my own health," he beamed. "A girl, I'm looking for a girl."

House threw the hypo down. "The bordellos down the street."

"Really? I'll make a note of it. But, no, a girl...came in here earlier..."

"Lots of girls come in here."

"Yeah, well, you would have remembered this one. Blond, yea high...," his voice lowered,"...strong...".

House stared at him. Then, getting his limey on, House said, "Yo, mate, I haven't seen your girlfriend, so go look for your tea and crumpets elsewhere." The patient sized House up. He looked at him straight on.

"Yeah," he said slowly. He turned to go, but paused at the door. "I like you, Doc... you've got a pair." He walked out and into the hall.

House regarded the retreating figure. He shook his head. "Fucking Clinic... Fucking Cuddy." House kicked a nearby cart. His leg revolted in pain. His mood soured even more when Chase paged him.

* * *

House entered the emergency room, and Chase waved him over. "You should look at this." House hobbled over.

"I've had all the cockney I can stand tonight. Make it quick."

Chase swept the curtains aside. Even House was taken by surprise. He quickly recovered. "Yeah a trauma patient, so what? Have you seen Wilson?"

"House, we need to run a battery of tests on this girl."

"Why? She'll be dead within the hour."

"She should have been dead hours ago... she's strong."

House stepped closer. He placed a hand on her matted hair. She was blond beneath the caked blood. He briefly scanned her vitals. "Well, it won't be long now," he said dryly. "I'm going home." His leg was barking pain. "Do what you want."

* * *

The dreadlocked phantom danced behind the fire. "...the penetrating wound..."

House was brutally jolted from his nightmare. He sat upright. His leg was on fire. He fumbled for his pills at his nightstand, knocking over the bottle of scotch. "Shit," he said. He quickly gulped six pills, grabbed his leg and screwed his eyes shut.

There would be no more sleep.

Eventually his pain sank down to a glow and House grew bored. He looked at the clock: 3:00 a.m. He called Chase at the ER. "What was the time of death for that trauma victim?"

"I didn't think you'd care," Chase replied matter-of-factly.

House's tone softened. "Look, her boyfriend was looking for her earlier . . . he should know."

"We're getting some labs back now . . . ."

"_Idiot,"_ House thought. "And what did the lab work say . . . she died from being run over by a Mac truckitis?"

"House, she's not dead . . . in fact, she's better."

* * *

House stood at the white board, brooding. Foreman scanned the files spread about the table, wondering which case House would take an interest in.

"A girl that should have died, doesn't," House said.

Foreman found the appropriate chart and read, "Neck trauma, arm partially severed, multiple lacerations, massive blood loss, coma . . . ." Foreman was puzzled by his boss taking this case on. The only odd thing was this girl's tenacity to live. Still, anything could happen. "She's pretty strong," Foreman offered. He instantly caught his mistake and braced himself for House's scathing insult. It didn't come.

"Yeah, she's strong," House said, lost in thought. He turned quickly. "But why?"

Cuddy appeared. "So, House, are you going to do any real work today?"

"Ah, you were in my dream last night!" Cuddy blushed imperceptibly but refused to be sucked in. She crossed her arms and waited.

"A trauma patient," House said, "that doesn't have the good sense to die."

Foreman handed the file to Cuddy. "Since when did trauma hold any interest for you?..." She appraised the situation and her voice trailed off. She looked up, "Why isn't this girl dead?"

House's pager interrupted them. It was Chase. The girl was awake.


	2. The Girl Who Doesn't Die

**Chapter Two by Lexie**

Wilson threw his pen down onto the recently discarded file and stretched out his sore fingers, stifling a yawn. Once again resisting the urge to sweep everything off his desk and into the wastebasket, he grabbed a new folder, and, leaning his chair back against his bookcase, started reading.

He hadn't had the best of days, although it certainly wasn't the worst. He didn't have to tell any seven year olds and their sobbing parents that they had mere months to live, or anyone, for that matter, but he did have unspeakable amounts of paperwork.

He brought his chair back down when he got to the end of the sheet, grabbed the pen, and scribbled his name down a few times before tilting back in his chair again, preparing to read the second of many tedious pages to come. He chewed absentmindedly on the tip of his pen. At least he wouldn't have to sign anything for two— no, three— more pages.

The paperwork failed to hold his attention for that long, however, and he was soon out of his office, planning to escape to the bathroom. Except he never made it that far either. House had come down the hallway, his cane and the sound of his so-called lackeys trotting behind him alerting Wilson to his presence. He turned from shutting and locking his door. "Where are you going?"

"ICU. You?" he said scathingly as his friend fell into step beside him, paperwork momentarily forgotten. Wilson waited for him to elaborate. "Apparently, there's this cool new girl who just can't die down there. We were thinking of maybe shooting her, see what happens."

Wilson glanced back at Houses team, wondering if what he was saying was true. Kutner caught his eye and nodded. Turning back, he sighed. What was House getting himself into this time?

Chase was just finishing bandaging a boy's leg when the door burst open to reveal House, his team, and Wilson. The patient jumped, startled. "Who are those guys?" he asked.

"Them? They're... just leaving." He inwardly winced and walked towards the hall, where House was tapping his cane impatiently. "I'll just be a moment," he assured him as he shut the door. Then he turned to House. "Why are you here? The patient's in the ICU."

"Where, though?"

"In the ICU!" he said exasperatedly. "I put the room number in the page I sent. 27."

House tilted his head and scrunched up his face in a parody of deep thought. "I didn't bother reading anything past 'she's awake.'" He turned on his heel. "You coming or not?"

Chase hesitated, torn between going with his ex-boss or helping his patient. He eventually decided upon the former, but by that time they had all already vanished, the doors to the ER swinging in their wake. He shrugged and went back into the exam room.

* * *

"When can I get out of here?" the young blond woman asked, fingering the bandage around her upper arm while a nurse checked her IV.

The nurse glanced at her, then picked up her chart. "Not anytime soon, girl. Wait..." She looked at the chart even closer, and then shifted her gaze to her patient. "There's no way you... Well, there must have been a mix up down in the ER. I'll should go tell someone about this." She glanced between her and the chart once more before departing with it, shaking her head.

"I'll just lie here," she said to her retreating back. Leaning back against the pillows, she sighed. She had always hated hospitals.

Suddenly, the sliding glass doors opened as a large procession of doctors came into the room. She forgot about her newest injury and tried to push herself up with her left arm, wincing as it collapsed from under her painfully.

The only one in the group not wearing a lab coat limped forward, leaning heavily on a cane. She looked him over, deciding that he was in his late forties and desperately needed to learn how to use a razor. "So, you must be the girl who doesn't die," he said in a slightly sarcastic tone.

"What?" she mumbled, still a little delirious from all the medicine they had given her. The man ignored her, limped over to the table by her bed, and rifled through the items on top of it. "What're you looking for?" she asked.

"Chart," he replied shortly, walking back to the end of her bed. "Thirteen," he said. "Look under the bed, see if it fell." He held his flamed-emblemized cane up in the air to show why he couldn't do it.

The woman who was apparently called Thirteen rolled her eyes, but still squatted down. She peered under the bed. "I don't see anything," she said after a second. Then a cane hit the ground loudly in front of her. Startled, she jumped up and let out a deep breath. One of the doctors rubbed his head and sighed wearily, but no one other than the patient and Thirteen seemed at all surprised.

"Um," the patient asked, making her presence known, "Who are all of you?" All eyes turned to her, and silence prevailed.

"Hi," the cane-welding man suddenly said. "I'm Dr. House, and all these people here are my minions."

No one objected to this declaration, and she giggled. This House person reminded her of someone.She squinted at him. '_Nope,' _she thought,_ 'no fangs.'_

* * *

"Dr. Chase?"

Chase retrieved his soda from the vending machine, stood up, and turned around when he heard his name. "What do you need?"

She held out the chart. "I think there was a mix up or something." Chase took the chart and flipped it open. He scanned it, seeing that it was the trauma patient's chart.

"It's okay," he told her after a moment. "This really does belong up there." He started walking towards the elevator, planning to take it back to her room, but she followed him.

"That girl would be dead. You really expect me to believe that someone in her condition just got better all on her own," she protested, crossing her arms.

Chase shrugged. "It's true." He stepped into the elevator, and the doors closed in behind him with a soft 'ping.'

After pressing the appropriate button, Chase watched the red numbers that indicated the floor level change. '1'... He opened his drink and took a sip. '2'... He glanced at his watch. '3'... There was another 'ping', and he stepped out of the opening doors.

"Oh, Dr. Chase, we were just talking about you!" House said in an overly cheer voice. The patient silently laughed.

Chase, ignoring his comment, shoved the chart toward him. "You might need this. It's Buffy's chart."

"What the crap's a buffy?" he asked as he took the chart. "Some obscure medical condition that makes people unable to die? Cause if so, infect me."

"That's my name," the patient hissed, glaring at House. "At least I'm not named after a building..." She pulled herself up with her pillows as far as her broken ribs would allow, and narrowed her eyes. "Shouldn't you be named be condo?"

"Feisty, aren't we?" he mumbled, focused on her chart. She was improving at an alarming rate, but it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to account it all to luck. House, of course, wasn't going to do that.

"Can I leave soon, _Dr. Chase_?" Buffy asked, adding emphases on his name.

Chase opened his mouth, but House beat him to it. "Unfortunately, we don't feel comfortable releasing you just yet." Buffy noticeably tensed at that. House turned around and gestured for the people he had come in with to follow him, saying, "Underlings, come."

They all paraded out of the room in single file, and Buffy found herself reminded of a certain vampire again. _'A least he's not blond.'_

She couldn't help it. She laughed out loud.


End file.
